Much Ado About Nothing

Much Ado About Nothing

“About face! March! Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four. Halt! About face! March! Hup, two...”

This goes on in daylight and in darkness.

“Red, yellow, black and white. We keep everything in sight. Day and night.” Marching Mustard remarked. “We are the Watchmen keeping watch over the rails of the ramparts in Messina...”

“Halt!” comes the command.

“Oomph. I hate it when you stop so suddenly, Colonel Catsuppi. You being red and me so white we'll come out pink colliding all the time.” Ranchairo exclaimed.

“That would create a thousand...”

“I'd relish that. Not!”

“Note to self. 'Be aware what you wish not for.' “ Frenchy chuckled behind them.

“About face! March!”

“Hey, has anyone taken a good look at Balsamic lately? He looks like he is about ready to expire.” Frenchy hints.

“Aren't we all stamped with an expiration date. Some are simply longer than others.” Oliveoili insisted.

“Halt!”

“After the stunt he pulled it is a wonder the Hotdog hasn't canceled him already.” Ranchairo mumbled.

“What did you say?” Colonel Catsuppi interjected.

“Come now. We all saw what we saw. That wasn't nothing. He slinked up to Lady Honey's chambers claiming to dress her up. Spoilt her for her wedding with Master Marmalade. The intended groom won't have nothing to do with her now.”

“Didn't you hear the word that Friar Frankfurt sent out that wasn't her on display in the tower window. It was Maid Margarine Balsamic slicked up to.”

“Hey, I can hear all that ado of which you are accusing me. I was put up to it by the bitter half-brother of Don Perrier, Don Vinagar. Think he was wanting Sweet Honey for himself.” Poor beleaguered Balsamic buffered. “But, yeah, I'm not complaining how Maid Margarine buttered me up. If you know what I mean?”

“About face....” As Major Mayo continued to bark out orders in barged hotheaded Constable Dogberry with his loyal Veggies tailing him.

“Brr. Bit chilly wouldn't you say? Here to collect Balsamic, Sir Major, and his cohort Borscht. Orders from Governor Leonion. Supposedly his daughter, Lady Honey, in her shame has committed suicide. She's currently laid out above the catacombs of ovum. Someone is going to have some explaining to do.”

“Balsamic is here but Borscht is probably hanging out with other left-overs from the masquerade party. Balsamic has implicated Don Vinagar may be responsible as well.”

“Duly noted. I don't know nothing about that yet. I'll be uncovering everything that started at least a week ago with all those folks on the top shelf. What can you tell me about the soldiers that crowd in here whenever they come to town?”

“Nothing to 'em much. Very transient fellows. Can see right through them. Only interested in making it with the ladies. Drench the wenches when the lights go out. If ya know what I mean?”

“I hear ya. Note to self. 'Don't let nothing get past ya when the lights go out.'”

One week ago...

Triumphant soldiers, Brigadier Breadsticks, Marmalade and Don Perrier, returned from battle to spend time with Governor Leonion who was mourning his late wife, Madam Imoldmilk. Prone to seeing her ghost hovering about the ovum catacombs, he mostly took refuge in the lower humidity of inner sanctuaries. His friends thought it would take nothing more than peeling back a few outer layers to expose his vulnerable heart so he would open up once more.

Master of Arms Marmalade took one look at Leonion's beautiful daughter, the pure and sweet Honey, and fell madly in love with her convincing Leonion to grant him her hand in marriage. The wedding was to take place quickly in order to divert the governor's grief. A grand masquerade ball was organized to celebrate.

As masquerade balls tend to do it became a great ado. Guests were having fun pretending to be what they weren't or who they weren't behind masks. Confusing mistaken identities abounded.

Bluffing banter was batted between Brigadier Breadsticks and the enticing Beetrice, a buxom friend of Honey's. Everyone noted how the two charmed one another even though the two begged to differ claiming it was nothing to make a big ado about.

In the fruit garden beyond the cottage of cheese and amongst the lettuce trellis Honey and her spicy friend, Ursalsa, twittered how much Breadsticks had confessed his true love for Beetrice.

“Fell sesame seeds over heels for her. I tell you!” Ursalsa swore. Unbeknownst to them Beetrice overheard their chatter.

Meanwhile, Leonion assured Breadsticks the lovely Beetrice adored him. “Her face blushes a bright red every time your name is mentioned.”

Looked like a true love match was hatching.

Unfortunately, a more sinister alliance was also being fostered. Don Vinagar, the distilled yet disinherited half-brother of popular Don Perrier, solicited whiny Balsamic and sour Borscht to foil the wedding by making it look like the bride-to-be was no longer the untouched virgin she claimed to be. He clearly desired her for himself. Actually, no one would have been surprised if he had wanted the groom for himself besides. No thing really ever matters.

So as one scenario glided to happily ever-after, the other resulted in Marmalade refusing to marry the deflowered beauty at the altar, therefore, she fainted away. A slight of hand by the sly Friar led Honey to her resting place upon her mother's grave.

“All is not lost.” Governor assures Master Marmalade. “I happen to have a niece nearly as sweet as Honey, Lady Syrupy. She is willing and ready to become your bride.”

Preparations were hastily made and they stand at the altar ready to take their vows.

The tension is thick. Suspense is gooey. Marmalade and Syrup, a match made in heaven? Will it all fall flat as a flapjack? Nothing is a sure thing.

Once more a big ado goes forth. Vows are spoken. “You may kiss the bride,” says Friar Frankfurt.

Master Marmalade lifts the veil and, “Surprise, surprise, surprise! It is I.”

He triumphantly embraces the Sweet Honey, his one true love. Alive and well. The hoax foiled the evil plans of Don Vinagar who finds himself in a pickle and will now be escorted away to a nice safe second drawer somewhere. Nothing to it!

The Condimental Watchmen witness the joyous proceedings from their stations on the railing. The light goes out as the door eases shut answering that age old question. All is well once again within Mess-in-a-Frigid-Aire.